Hannibal the Not-so-Secretly a Cannibal
by SmaugWearsaScarf
Summary: Jack Crawford is an idiot, Will is crazy, Alana is oblivious, and Hannibal wonders if everyone is stupid. Crackfic.
1. EXPOSITION!

**This is a crackfic. All grammar mistakes are mine. Whoops. ****There will be some mild swearing (only two**** so far...****) ****and general craziness. But it is a TV show about a cannibalistic serial killer, so I assume you're fairly mature, so on with the show! Enjoy. (Insert your preferred happy emoticon here)**

* * *

FBI academy instructor Will Graham finished class and was surprised to see a vaguely familiar person enter his emptying classroom.

"Hey, Will Graham, it's Jack Crawford," he announced. "So there's this serial killer up in Minnesota, and I want to catch him."

Will nodded. "Right."

"So, you know that thing you do that helps you catch serial killers but makes you extremely unstable?" Jack asked.

"Yeah..." Will said suspiciously.

"You want to go do it?"

"...Fuck..." Will said. "I guess so, but only if you pay me in stray dogs."

Jack nodded. "We were gonna pay you in layers of gum, but that sounds cheaper."

* * *

Alana Bloom and Jack Crawford walked down the paths of the FBI academy.

"So... do you want to sleep with Graham or what?" Jack finally asked, giving in to curiosity.

"Jack!" said Alana, looking deeply offended. "I'm his _friend_... who also kind maybe want to screw him."

"Mmm..." Jack said sagely.

"So, he's going back into the field, huh?" Alana brooded.

"Mmm..." Jack further said, his tone wise and inattentive.

"Jack, don't let him go batshit crazy and start murdering people, okay?"

"Lol, no, of course not, he'll stay completely sane and stable," Jack promised. "Know any psychiatrists for unstable FBI teachers turned special agents on a completely and totally, without a doubt, unrelated note, Alana?"

Alana looked thoughtful.

"Hmm... well I do know someone who might work. Dr. Hannibal Lecter."

"His name rhymes with cannibal," observed Jack intelligently.

Alana frowned suddenly.

"Weren't you white in the Silence of the Lambs?" she asked curiously.

"Uh..."

* * *

Hannibal watched Franklyn sob with clinical detachment.

"Please doctor," he choked out.

Hannibal waited a few seconds, reveling in Franklyn's sorrow before reluctantly handing him a box of tissues. He blew his nose obnoxiously, then set the dirtied tissue on the glass table.

Hannibal promptly decided to murder Franklyn.

"I hate being this neurotic," Franklyn sobbed.

"I hate America's fascist anti-cannibalism laws, but you don't hear me complaining," Hannibal muttered.

"What?" Franklyn asked.

"What?" Hannibal asked.

They continued the session.

* * *

Jack Crawford was waiting outside. As Franklyn emerged from his session Jack immediately shook his hand.

"Doctor Cannib- I mean _Hannibal _Lecter, Jack Crawford, FB- Wait... you're far too fat to be a psychiatrist!"

"Weren't you white in the Silence of the Lambs?" asked Franklyn, confused.

"I'm Canni- **_HANNIBAL_ **Lecter," interrupted Hannibal, interrupting the two as he emerged from his office.

"Right, shoo," Jack said to Franklyn, who left, still confused.

"Do you have an appointment?" asked Hannibal, straightening his already straight suit.

"THIS is my appointment!" exclaimed Jack, displaying his FBI badge, all but shoving it down Hannibal's throat.

"Ah. Before you arrest me I'd like to point out that it'll be very difficult for you to arrest a DEAD MAN!" Hannibal yelled, running for the door.

"Wait! We just need your help with an agent!" Jack called.

"Oh," Hannibal said, clearing his throat, embarrassed. "So this _isn't _about me being the Chesapeake Ripper?"

"What?" asked Jack.

"What? Come right in," Hannibal said.

* * *

"What lovely drawings," Jack remarked to Hannibal as the two walked over to his desk.

"Don't look at the one below it," Hannibal told him.

Jack nodded. "Of course not. It definitely doesn't implicate you as the Chesapeake Ripper, right, because that would be a problem."

"This one is of my boarding school in France," Hannibal interrupted loudly, covering up the other drawing quickly.

"Oh, you're French?" asked Jack.

"No, I'm Lithuanian."

Jack frowned. "You have a Danish accent."

Hannibal shrugged. "Have you ever heard a Lithuanian accent?"

Jack made a face.

"That's what I thought," Hannibal said.

Jack cleared his throat. "Um, so I've got this guy named Will Graham, and he's really unstable, so I was wondering if you could maybe help me make him even more unstable- I mean help him. Help him."

"Can I eat him when we're done?" Hannibal asked.

"What?" asked Jack.

"I'd love to."

"Well, since I automatically trust you implicitly for no reason at all, let's go!" Jack exclaimed.

Hannibal wondered if Jack Crawford was stupid.

* * *

**Reviews are greatly appreciated. More to come soon. Bon apetite!**

**SmaugWearsaScarf**


	2. Hannibal Does Nothing Bad Ever

**Hey guys! Thank SO much for all the love! Every review, favorite, and follow gave me a Grinch-like heart grow! Except not like that at all. Also I'm sorry I didn't update this thing sooner. AHH I'M AWFUL! ... Hmm... that came out wrong. What I mean is thank you, and enjoy the second helping!**

**P.S. All errors are still mine. I'm bad at editing my own stuff. There was a typo or something last time that I'm too lazy to re-find. Sorry about that, folks! Okay, NOW you can read the second chapter. Unless you just ignored this stuff, in which case none of this even matters! Aww... (disappointed facial expression)**

* * *

Hannibal sat behind Jack Crawford's desk while Will Graham stared at a map on the wall.

"Right, so this chick called Freddie Lounds has been following this case, and she's gonna be important later in the show, so-"

"Wasn't she a man in Red Dragon?" interrupted Will.

"Uhhhh," began Jack.

"And, weren't you white in the Silence of the Lambs?" Hannibal added in, realizing he had yet to ask Jack the question that burned on everyone's minds.

"The next person who asks why my skin changed color is going to find out _why _I'm head of part of the FBI," Jack said angrily.

"Behavorial sciene," Hannibal clarified.

"What _do _you do, exactly?" asked Will curiously.

Jack scrunched up his face, thinking. "Uh, well I'm planning on giving all of my work to you from here on out, until you go crazy and I replace you with some chick who looks like Jodie Foster, so... that, I guess is my job."

"To stand over Will and tell him to do your work?" Hannibal asked, looking alarmed.

"Umm... Hey, Will, meet Hannibal Lecter," said Jack, eager to change the subject.

"No, it's Hannibal, not Canni- Actually, that's correct," said Hannibal, looking mildly surprised.

"And this is Will Graham," Jack finished, feeling very pleased with himself.

"My thoughts aren't always tasty," Will informed him.

'Well, I just won't eat your brain then," Hannibal decided.

"What?" asked Jack.

"What?" asked Will.

"You sure don't like eye contact, do you," Hannibal interrupted, continuing the trend of subject changing.

"Well eyes are portals to the soul or something like that," Will muttered, twitching.

"And you don't want people to look into your soul?"

"Wait a second... WTF?! Are you trying to head shrink me, Canni- HANNIbal Lecter? Because you won't like me when you head shrink me!" Will said, quoting the first thing that people think of when the hear about a TV show about Hannibal Lecter: the Incredible Hulk.

Hannibal just stared at him creepily.

"Well I have to go teach some kids how to head shrink, so whatever. Catch you on the flip side," said Will, storming out dramatically.

"You shouldn't screw with him like that," Jack told Hannibal, watching Will slam the door like a ten year old.

"Coming from the man who's job is to apparently screw with Will's head." Hannibal said.

Jack had no real reply so the scene ended.

* * *

In Minnesota another death had occured. As Will Graham walked onto the scene he immediatly realized that something was different.

"There're a bunch of ravens pecking at that stag..." Will muttered. "I hope that doesn't bleed into my subconcious."

"What was that?" asked Jack, examining the body.

"Err, nothing. Just my sudden loss of attachment to reality. So, this crime scent, huh..." Will said, walking over to the body.

"Yes. You see anything different about it, Will."

Will looked it over carefully.

"There was no love in this murder," he told Jack dramatically.

"Really? I thought this just spelled romance..." Hannibal said from behind them, a subtle tone of sarcasm in his voice that everyone missed.

"Shut up, you're not in this scene," said one of the crew members.

"I'm not? Then why is this show named after me?" Hannibal asked.

"Just leave!"

Hannibal left.

"Right, so whoever did this... they thought she was a pig. That she deserved to die. We're looking for an intelligent sociopath. Kind of like the Chesapeake Ripper, but not that because we're in Minnesota and a serial killer can't like move around or anything. This killer feels strangely farmiliar though... like I've met them before..."

In the background Hannibal watched nervously.

"They're name probably ryhmmes with cannibal..."

Hannibal's concern grew.

Will shook his head. "Well, whatever. This copycat killer will never pop up again so we should just move on and stop caring."

Hannibal was caught between relief and despair.

"Yeah," agreed Jack. "I think the best course of action is to move on. It's not like we know anyone who fits that description or anything."

Will nodded in agreement.

One of the investigators grew concerned as the man in the suit who was not in this scene began to repeatedly bash his head against the wall.

* * *

Later that night Will Graham took a shower.

"OH MY GOD IT'S THE STAG!" Will screamed as the shower curtains dramatically blew to reveal the ravenstag staring at him creepily.

"AND IT'S A CREEPER STAG THAT LIKES WATCHING MEN SHOWER!"

The ravenstag face-palmed, which makes sense if you don't think about it.

* * *

The next morning Will heard a knock on his door.

He opened it.

"Good morning, Will," said Hannibal, holding up some food. "I cooked you breakfast. Do you remember that dead girl in the field yesterday?"

Will nodded slowly.

"This," he said, nodding at what he'd made. "Is definitely not you."

"Well, I have no reason to trust you and it's already been established by the fact that I got pissy about that shrinking stuff that I don't like you, so... please come in, Dr. Lecter, and I'd love to eat some of the food you made."

"Excellent," said Hannibal with one of his trademarked distrubing smiles.

Breakfast passes without further incident, unless you count Hannibal comparing Will to a mongoose, which Will thought was weird, but it was Cani- Hannibal Lecter saying it, so Will ignored it.

As did everyone when Hannibal did something creepy and/or serial killer-ish.

Because if you wear a suit and are wealthy you have nothing to hide.

Nothing.

...Nothing...

* * *

**Hiiii again... So feel free to send more love in the way of reviews and all that other cool stuff! I'll be back sooner this time, so until then: Thanks a ton, guys!**

**SmaugWearsaScarf**


	3. Adventures in Throat Cutting

**Holy crap, you guys are amazing. Like seriously amazing. Can I hug you all? In a platonic and strictly professional manner of course, because we all know crackfics are very serious buisness. Especially Hannibal crackfics. The only thing more serious than a Hannibal crackfic is a funeral for a puppy. Or maybe a kitten. Something cute. Long story short, thanks for all the reviews, faves, and follows, and here's the spellbinding conclusion of the first episode of Hannibal! (Yay!)**

* * *

"What're you smiling at?" Will asked as he and Hannibal pulled into the construction site.

"It's just interesting to see how the FBI operates when it's not kicking in doors or incorrectly guessing who the Chesapeake Ripper is, which isn't me, have I mentioned that?" Hannibal said innocently.

"Only seven times on the way over," Will said, and then proceeded to explain exactly how the FBI tracks down serial killers, which Hannibal took notes during. He wrote in a little notebook that was full of doodles of the girl from the field being impaled by deer antlers and a signed confession to the murder, none of which Will noticed because he thought he saw the ravenstag watching him.

"What're we looking for?" Hannibal asked.

"Anything peculiar," Will said.

"Like someone changing skin color or gender?" Hannibal asked. "That would be peculiar. Like, for instance, if they turned from Fred Lounds to Freddie Lounds, or from Alan Bloom to Alana?"

"Exactly," Will said, nodding. "That would be very peculiar and suspcious."

They got out of the car and started shifting through files while the woman in the builiding gossiped on the phone. She turned away after a minute and looked over at Will and Hannibal. Hannibal was inconspicuously wiping blood off his coat and Will had turned one of the files into a paper airplane.

"What did you say your names were again?" the woman asked Will.

Will ignored her in favor of randomly pulling out a file and listing the name off.

"Garret Jacob Hobbes?" Will said.

"Those are resignation letters," the woman informed him. "The files over there are-"

"HE DID IT!" Will proclaimed, holding the file aloft and making the woman jump.

"How do you know that?" asked Hannibal.

"They left a phone number instead without an address," Will said triumphantly. Hannibal and the woman stared at him.

"Soooo?" asked the woman after a moment.

"It's peculiar," Will told them, frustrated by their lack of reaction to his genius deduction.

"I bet loads of people don't leave an address," the woman said, irritated. "And, if you want suspicious, you should take a look at your buddy over there. He killed a cat and stored the edible parts in a cooler while you had your back turned!"

Will ignored her and turned to Hannibal. "Grab all those files and help me take them to the car. There's no discernable reason to do that, since we only need the one piece of paper from Garret Jacob Hobbes, but I think you probably want to call someone on that phone over there, so lets kill some time and give the killer extra opportunities to strike again, which we were very worried about earlier."

"Uh, thank you, I suppose?" Hannibal tried.

Will nodded because he was feeling pretty cool after figuring out the murderer so quickly (and without any actual evidence).

Will, the woman, and Hannibal began to load random and inconsequential files about port-a-potty expenses into the car and Hannibal suddenly threw one at the woman's head. She shrieked and ducked.

"Jeez Hannibal," Will muttered. "Didn't realize you were so clumsy."

"Did you just see that?" the woman asked hysterically. "That man just threw that box at my head on purpose!"

"Help me pick these up," Will told the woman who gaped at him while Hannibal took opportunity of the stupidity-fueled confusion to re-enter the building and begin dialing a phone number.

"Hey Hannibal!" yelled Will. "I'm just gonna wait for you outside with this lady and not grab any files until you're done on the phone!"

Hannibal did not reply, but he did imagine punching Will in the face until his knuckles bled.

* * *

"Hey, dad, phone's for you," said Abbigail Hobbes, handing it to her father.

"Hello?" asked Garret Jacob Hobbes. He stood making breakfast with his peaceful, not yet murdered family.

"They know," a mysterious, Danish accented voice said on the other end, then hung up.

"Who knows?" Hobbes asked. "That makes absolutely no sense. Does my bank know I bounced that check. Does my mother know I stole ten dollars from her wallet when I was ten? I need context!"

The phone did not reply to him, so Hobbes decided the best course of action was to murder his family. Why not?

* * *

"Will?" asked Hannibal. They sat in the car outside of the home of Garett Jacob Hobbes.

"Will? We've been sitting in this car for five minutes doing nothing. What if Hobbes is murdering his wife and daughter right this very second?"

Will didn't reply, just took some aspirin.

Just then Garret Jacob Hobbes burst out of his house and murdered his wife.

"Oh snap!" Will excalimed, dashing out of the car and staring into Mrs. Hobbes eyes as he tried desperately to stop the blood flow from her slit throat with his hand.

"Tell... Abigail..." Mrs. Hobbes whispered in a death rattle. "That she should... stop... wearing sweaters... They look bad on her..."

Mrs. Hobbes died.

Will drew his gun, ignoring the fact Hannibal, who was a doctor, had just stood around near the car and watched the scene while doing absolutely nothing. Will figured he had something intelligent and European to do before deigning to help Will.

"Garret Jacob Hobbes, sort-of FBI!" Will yelled as he kicked the door down like a bad ass and walking through the house with twitchy hands.

He walked into the kitchen and saw that Mrs. Hobbes was wrong, Abigail seemed like she would look awesome in sweaters.

Hobbes stood behind his daughter, knife pressed to the side of his neck.

Will shot him just as he began to open up Abbigail's throat, then shoot him an extra nine times because, let's face it, if you're gonna shoot a crazy cannibal dude you should do it a lot of times. What if he had superpowers? Then whose laughing? YOU! But people will think you're crazy because your laughing after killing another human being, so maybe you should just twitch some more and grab a hold of a paritally slit throat. Which Will proceeded to do.

He looked over at Garret Jacob Hobbes as Abbigail shook on the ground.

"See... see..." Hobbes hissed out. "See... Hannibal, friday nights, nine o'clock on NB-SEE," Hobbes told him, shamelessly plugging his favorite TV show before dying on the floor.

Hannibal, who'd watched the whole thing with a look of mild irritation, eventually decided he might as well help out, seeing as Will looked like he was about to have a mental breakdown and the girl was on the verge of dying.

"Oh snap," Will mutterd as Hannibal proceeded to save Abbigail's life for no other reason then to further screw stuff up.

"Oh snap..."

* * *

Jack Crawford entered Will Graham's classroom and was surprised to see Alana Bloom teaching in Will's place.

"Where's Graham?" asked Jack.

"You said he wouldn't get too close," Alana accused. "What if he's too unstable to sleep with me now?"

"Lol, I did, didn't I?" Jack said wisely. His short, often extremely insightful quips were one of the reasons he was so good at his job.

Jack Crawford is an American treasure.

* * *

Later that evening Hannibal sat in Abigail's hospital holding her hand while Will watched on sadly.

"Do any of your actions make any sense?" Will asked him.

Hannibal was asleep, so he didn't answer.

Will decided to sit down and stare creepily while sad music played very loudly and the scene faded away. Will decided he should take more aspirin until the music stopped. Ravenstags were one thing but closing credits were a little too crazy, even for him.

* * *

**Abrupt ending! I love the first episode because a whole bunch of it takes place in Duluth, Minnesota, which is where I live, which totally doesn't freak me out a little sometimes late at night. Anyways, review, follow, fave and all that cool stuff. Or don't. No pressure. (_PRESSURE_) I'll try to get another one up this week/end because the new episode(s) are making me excited to write. Alright, see y'all! (:**


	4. Will is a Badass

**Hey there, guys! I'd like to thank you guys for all the great reviews and stuff! This has been a fantastically fun story to write and I'm so pleased that people enjoy it. With that in mind, I give you the next chapter of Hannibal the Not-So-Secretly a Cannibal (have you noticed each chapter is getting progressively longer?).**

* * *

Will Graham fired round after round down the firing range and into a flat piece of paper.

Once the clip was empty he hit the button and the piece of paper, now riddled with holes, glided forward.

"IT'S GARRET JACOB HOBBES!" Will yelled hysterically. "SHOOT HIM! SHOOT HIM! AHHHH!"

Garret Jacob Hobbes, now apparently invulnerable to bullets continued to glide forward harmlessly. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Hey, Will, now that I'm dead, I just wanted to talk to you about looking after my daug-" Hobbes began.

"DIE! DIE YOU MISERABLE MOTHERFU-"

Will woke up from his dream about re-murdering a dead person with a start as Jack Crawford drummed on the glass of the car window.

"We're here," Jack told him. "You ready?"

Will stared at him with wide, creepy eyes and said, in a monotone, "I dream about killing dead people now."

Jack nodded. "Yeah, that'll happen."

Will exited the car and they approached the hunting shack of Garret Jacob Hobbes.

The interior of the shack was filled with the mutilated corpses of animals and had the sort of lighting one would expect out of a cannibal's murder shack.

"Hmmm..." Jack brooded, examining the flayed intestines of what might've been a sheep dog. "He disguised his shack very well. No one would ever have guessed a crazy person owned this place."

"You're right," Will agreed, stepping over a pile of ripped-off, seventeen year-old girl jawbones. "He was carefully not to leave any evidence. We're going to have to work carefully."

Jack nodded. "Let's go upstairs. Maybe there'll be something suspicious up there."

They climbed up to the upper floor and entered a room full of mounted deer antlers.

"Now _this_," Will said. "_This _is sick. This should go in your stupid museum of crazy people."

"Hey now, Will. What we learn here will help us catch the next Garret Jacob Hobbes."

"Next Garret Jacob Hobbes?" asked Will in disbelief. "What're the chances there's another cannibalistic serial killer on the loose?"

"Almost astronomical," Jack admitted. "In fact I think I'll just discount that idea right now."

Will nodded. "Smart."

"I wonder where the remains are...?" Jack thought outloud.

"He ate them," Will said intelligently. "That's why he's a cannibal. You see cannibals eat their victims."

"Thank you, professor," said Jack, engaging in the first act of sarcasm or genuine wit he'd ever tried at. He decided he didn't like it and vowed to never try again. "But there's got to have been a lot of meat. Maybe he was feeding it to someone."

Will shook his head adamantly. "That would be ridiculous, Jack! Who would he feed it to?"

"Well, Abigail. She did come to the shack. I know he didn't leave a lot of disturbing things in the shack, as evidenced by his ordinary lower floor, but I think there's a very good chance she was somehow involved."

Will shook his head some more. "Hobbes killed alone," he said without any sort of proof to back up his claims. In fact Will didn't normally have any proof to back up his claims. Luckily the FBI doesn't require proof. As long as you're a charming, sort of scruffy-looking dog lover they trust you to know the identity of a serial killer through a combination of latent psychic abilities and blind magic. The FBI is a very trusting agency. And that's why they're so effective.

Something caught Will's eye and he leaned down to grab a long, curly, red hair from under a pair of deer antlers beneath a wooden board.

"Someone else was here..." Will muttered.

The camera began to pan away and-

"WAIT!" Will yelled. "You can't pan away yet! How the hell did this hair get here? What, do you expect us to believe Freddie Lounds stuck her freaking head way down here, completely out of the way and underneath a wooden beam? For no reason?"

"Will, calm down-" Jack tried, but it was futile.

"NO, JACK! This is too much of a weird scene ending! She just took pictures in here, she didn't rub her head all over the antlers!"

The camera began to pan away again.

"STOP IT!" Will yelled. "You can't ignore this!" But the screen faded to black anyways.

* * *

Somewhere Freddie Lounds sat naked in a chair, typing on her computer. Freddie Lounds, like most tabloid journalists, did the majority of her work in the nude, after taking a shower. That's just how they work. Don't question it. It's definitely not gratuitous nudity. Stop it! I can see you questioning it and you need to stop and just enjoy the partial nudity.

"I am a BAMF," Freddie muttered to herself as she uploaded the photos to her unattractive-looking website. "I bet I'm gonna be everyone's favorite character after I get this new story out there. They'll all be like 'Freddie, you're so attractive looking and devilish, you _make _Hannibal the best TV show ever.'"

Somewhere Hannibal Lecter uncomfortably cleared his throat and wondered why he wasn't going to show up until ten minutes into a show about him.

Once Freddie Lounds was done on her website she got dressed. Because she knew that there was a fine line between being sexy and being weird. Unfortunately she had incorrectly guessed where that line was.

And now she was everyone's least favorite character.

Oops.

* * *

Will Graham walked into his classroom admist applause.

"Woooh!" yelled the cadets. "You're so cool, sir!"

"Good work murdering that cannibal!"

"I wonder if there's another cannibal somewhere!"

"Who cares?"

"You're right! We should'nt care! GO WILL!"

"Woohooo!"

"Stop it!" shouted Will, waving his arms wildly, quieting the excitable cadets down. "I don't want to talk about how badass I am, killing that bastard and all. And now here's a powerpoint on what a badass I am because I killed that bastard."

He clicked a button and the resignation letter of Garett Jacob Hobbes appeared on his projecter.

"Does anyone see the clue?" Will asked. He waited a couple seconds, so that some of the cadets could get ideas, before yelling, "wrong!"

The cadets looked at eachother in confusion.

"There is no clue," said Will. "I just guessed."

One of the cadets stood up. "Sir, are you suggesting we decide who we should arrest based on whoever we randomly decide might have comitted a heinous, disgusting crime?"

"Basically," Will told the cadet.

"Do you realize you could ruin someone's life like that?" asked the cadet.

Will shrugged. "If you're making omelets you have to break a few eggs."

"Hey!" yelled another cadet. "Only Hannibal is allowed to make food related puns! That's the point of the show."

"Oh, I thought it was to torture me," Will said, looking surprise. "I guess it's true then. You guys teach me more than I teach you. Class dismissed."

Every member of that class that day joined the FBI and became successfull agents with the highest arrest rate with the lowest rate of correct arrests of in the history of the FBI.

And Will Graham was very proud. Assumably. He never really mentioned how he felt about his job as a teacher. In fact he might even hate it. We just don't know.

After class Alana Bloom came into the classroom.

"AH! Woman!" Will yelled, then cleared his throat awkwardly. "I mean, hello, Alana. You're looking your breast- I mean best today. How's, erm, having lady parts going?"

"Um..." Alana began, but was fortunately interrupted by the enterance of Jack Crawford.

"Hey, Will," he said. "How's it going?"

"They clapped because now I'm a total badass. It was inappropriate."

"Well the board certainly doesn't think so. Or does. I'm not sure, you phrased that weird. The point is you're up for a commendation, which we'll never hear about again so I don't know why I'm bringing it up, and you're back to active duty."

"If you want to," Alana interjected. "How're you feeling, Will?"

"Well," Will began. "I've been hallucinating about a stag with raven feathers and Garett Jacob Hobbes returning from the dead, and I'm probably going to overdose on aspirin, so well enough to work, I suppose."

"Good. We're going to give you a psych eval," Jack told him.

"Ah," Will said, staring at Alana. "Are we starting now?"

"Oh, no!" Alana said. "They'd never let me evaluate you, I wanna screw you. That's why we're having Canni- Hannibal Lecter evaluate you. He doesn't want to screw you."

"I know some shippers who would beg to differ," muttered Will.

"So, you in?" asked Jack.

"Anything to sustain my crippling dog and aspirin addiction," said Will.

"Good enough for me," Jack decided.

Later 'Good Enough' became the behavioral science department's motto, based off of Jack Crawford's legacy of using unstable and/or underage agents/cadets to do his work for him. When asked what he thought about the motto he declared it 'good enough.'

Jack Crawford: legacy of excellence.

* * *

**If you're keeping track that is the second chapter I've ended with a joke about Jack. Can we make three? Do we want to make three? I have no idea, I just like asking open-ended questions! Anyways, have a great day and if ya wanna review, fave, or follow I won't be mad. I'll be very happy. Maybe cry tears of joy. Or something. I dunno. Okay then, this is getting awkward. I should probably just stop typing... Any minute now... Okay, bye. :)**


	5. this is how i roll

**Holy crap, 40 reviews? You guys are literally the best. Not figuratively, LITERALLY! And as a response to BreakOnThrough, I keep thinking about how much I wanna mess with the episodes in season two, especially stiff FBI lady. So, as all of you are secretly dreading in your hearts, this fic will probably go through ALL of the episodes until I reach there. Which will take figuratively forever. So get used to me, guys!**

**Also I fixed some typos last chapter. Not sure if you care, just putting it out there. Okay, now let's get crackin' (get it, cuz it's a crackfic?).**

* * *

Will stood in the office of one Doctor Hannibal Lecter. He stood up on the strange balcony area because he wanted to look dramatic.

"Why do you have so many books about evading the law, Hannibal?" asked Will curiously.

Hannibal was about to answer but Will spotted the paper Hannibal held in his hand.

"What's that?"

"You're psych eval," said Hannibal. "It says that you're completely rational, don't hallucinate about animals, that you never have, or will have, nightmares or strange blackout spells, and that if I'm ever in trouble you get pinned for my crimes."

"What was that last one?" asked Will with a frown.

"So, you're good now," Hannibal said, interrupting his confusion. "Free to fight crime and solve mysteries."

Will nodded slowly and began to pace, thinking. He noticed a framed picture on the wall of Hannibal and the impaled girl from the field in Minnesota as Hannibal cut her open with his pattented Hannibal-is-a-creeper-RUN smile.

"Jack thinks I need therapy," Will said.

"I wonder why he'd think that?" muttered Hannibal.

"Right?" Will said, taking his sarcasm for agreement.

"What you need is a way for you to escape dark places when I send you there. By which I mean Jack. I would never send you dark places. Except I will. Not really. I'm joking, Will."

"Last time I went to a dark place," Will brooded, ignoring Hannibal, "I brought something back. It was a T-shirt that says 'I killed Garret Jacob Hobbes.' I think I should stop wearing it when I visit Abigail. It creeps her out."

"You brought Abigail back, too," said Hannibal, who decided he might as well ignore everything everyone else says since they did so to him. "A surrogate daughter."

"She's yours, too," Will pointed out.

"She's both of our daughters."

"Sounds awfully slashfic to me," Will said. "We should be careful. As long as you don't do anything creepy around me we should be alright, though."

Hannibal immediatly stopped stroking the hair clippings he stole from Will while they were in Abigail's hospital room and nodded politely.

"Jack thinks Abigail helped her father kill and eat those girls," Will told him.

"He does?" asked Hannibal, impressed. "Maybe she truly is my daughter then."

Will shook his head, frustrated by the futility of it all.

"Will," Hannibal said, making him stop and turn. "The mirrors in your mind can reflect the best in yourself, not the worst in someone else."

"What?" asked Will. "That doesn't follow. Isn't my weird ability reflecting the worst in other people? Isn't that the whole _point _of this TV show?"

Hannibal shook his head. "No. The point is to make the viewers feel uncomfortably hungry when watching and to make cannibalism puns that prove I am more clever than anyone else."

"Even Anthony Hopkins?" asked Will.

Hannibal winced. "Careful, Will. We are getting into dangerous territory now."

Will thought about the point of the show for a few more seconds. "What about close ups of Winston? Isn't that another moral? That dogs are cute?"

Hannibal considered it for a moment.

"That is also a correct interpretation."

* * *

Later that day Will Graham shot a handgun into a paper target at the FBI firing range. He looked around superstitiously, hoping this wasn't a dream, too. Just to be sure he pinched himself, which hurt enough to convince him that his dreams are getting more elaborate. Maybe he should shoot himself so that he would wake up...

"You suck," Beverly Katz told him, emergining from the darkness to examine the targets. He had shot every target at least three times, except his own. His target was blank except for a picture of Hobbes' face that Will had taped on. He'd also doodled some black antlers on for a reason Beverly decided she didn't want to wonder about.

"Yeah, I got stabbed. Makes it harder to aim right," Will explained as he shot another bullet, this one going straight into the ceiling, a feat that was impossible in the word of phsyics.

"I got stabbed in the thrid grade with a mechanical pencil," said Beverly, stepping forward to adjust his stance. The joke was funny enough in the actual TV show that there is no need to parody it.

"Uh, Beverly?" asked Will as she moved his shoulder forward. He stood with his legs splayed like a pregnant woman crowning and the gun in a stiff grip that made him look like he was trying to break his wrist by squeezing.

"Yeah?" she asked, distracted by Will's unbelievably bad posture.

"Maybe you shouldn't touch me. I've already got two shipper parties."

Beverly nodded and released him. "You should be good now anyways. Try again."

The next bullet went straight into the floor.

"Well," Beverly said uncomfortably. "At least you tried. C'mon, we've got a new case."

* * *

A line of corpses transformed into a macabre garden of evil lay in the dirt of the crime scene that Jack and Will entered together. It was full of FBI agents who examined the mushroom-ridden corpses with a combination of fascination and disgust, which was also how most people view the new Robocop.

"So Hannibal says you're sane now, huh?" Jack asked, ducking under the crime scene tape.

"Not really," Will said, taking his turn to go under the tape.

Jack grunted. "Shame."

"So, some creepy stuff is going on here," said Will, looking around.

Jack nodded. "Yes. They were buried alive and in such a way that they would decompose quickly."

"Cute."

"They were all hooked up together, too."

"That's nice," said Will, nodding and putting on a thoughtful face.

"So..." Jack said, staring at Will pointedly.

"Clear the crime scene," Will said tiredly.

"Is he gonna do the thing?" asked an FBI agent as Jack waved him off.

"Yep," Beverly told him, following him as she, too, exited. "He's gonna do the thing."

"Sweet."

Will closed his eyes and watched a pendulum of light swing back and forth three times.

"I HAVE THE POWER!"" he yelled as reconstructed the crime scene in his head.

"Will-Man!" said the FBI in a reluctant chorus.

"Are people gonna get the joke?" whispered Beverly to Jack in the background.

"Ssh, he's doing the thing," Jack whispered back.

In the corner Freddie Lounds, who had yet to be noticed by any of the cast that actually mattered, took several pictures very loudly, which Jack ignored because an FBI agent had just asked why he was white in Silence of the Lambs but not here and now Jack had to beat him into submission.

"I do not bury his arms or legs, because I am too cool for that," Will says to himself as he begins to piece together the crime, starting with the first corpse.

Will looked at the corpse head on. "This is how I roll."

"He's alive... but he will never be conscious again."

Will taped on the breathing mask in his mind.

"He won't know that he's dying. I don't need him to. This is how I roll."

Will looked down and suddenly the victim was gone, replaced by Garett Jacob Hobbes.

"Hobbes, get outta the way," said Will. "I'm trying to solve a murder here!"

"Okay, okay," said Hobbes good-naturedly. "I'm gonna get you, though!"

Will laughed. "Oh run along, you scamp," he said fondly and Hobbes disappeared politely as the corpse suddenly realized it wasn't a corpse and yanked on his arm.

"RAVENSTAG! I mean, AHHH!" Will yelled.

Freddie Lounds, who was still watching, frowned. "That guy wasn't dead."

"No," agreed an FBI member.

"Shouldn't the people who investigate serial murderers be held to a high enough standard that they _know _when someone's dead or not."

The FBI guy shrugged. "This isn't your momma's FBI. It's Jack Crawford's."

"Oh yeah," Freddie said. "I forgot."

"Good enough?" she asked, grinning at the FBI dude.

"Good enough," he agreed, and they fist pounded while Will collapsed on the crime scene, hyperventilating. The FBI surged past him to examine the not-dead dead guy and Will lay there for the next three hours until Hannibal showed up to try and nab some fresh meat and took pity on him.

Luckily the FBI's rush wasn't in vain, because the not-corpse managed to survive for an extra three minutes thanks to their dedication.

The FBI rocks.

* * *

**You guys know the drill. I'll be back before you know it. ;)**

**Also, #thisishowiroll should be a thing. Just sayin'.**


	6. Hannibal Finally Gives Up

**Hey guys. I know it's been a while, but I do actually have a valid excuse. I kind of got into an accident and screwed my head up a little for a while. But don't worry, I'm back and my writing is back to its shiny full potential!**

**Also, to everyone who's read/reviewed/favorite/followed my story thank you so much. Reading your reviews and seeing how many people like this just makes me _SO_ happy, you guys have no idea. :)**

**To Aguna, yes I do totally own the DVD box set. When I write these (no one asked but I'm gonna tell y'all anyways) I watch the episode, pause it and write some jokes, then move on. That's why sometimes you see actual lines from the show stuck in here. Going back to Aguna, I'll try and think of an angle for a gag reel special chapter of awesomeness, but if I can't I'll write a special chapter anyways for you and I'll of my other readers who're awesome (which is ALL of them) once I get to like fifteen chapters or so.**

**Okay, I'll try and make this one extra long for you guys to make up for not updating! And here... we... _go_.**

* * *

Will Graham set Hannibal Lecter's letter on Hannibal's desk.

"This may have been premature," Will said.

"Why?" asked Hannibal. "Because you were unstable to begin with and were never comfortable with the idea of this in the first place?"

"No," Will said, "I saw Garret Jacob Hobbes. Wait," Will said, realizing something. "Why do we always refer to him by his entire name? Can't we just say Hobbes? We say the whole thing nearly every time, what's up with that?"

Hannibal shrugged. "This is your country, not mine."

"Oh yeah," Will said. "Normally I don't like to think about you because it's confusing. You're from Lichtenstein or something, right?"

"Yes... I'm from Lichtenstein," Hannibal said through gritted teeth. He wondered why he even bothered. Maybe he should move back to Europe, take up a new hobby. Maybe golf... or perhaps beekeeping.

Hannibal suddenly had a strange feeling someone in the future was going to steal beekeeping as a hobby from him. Well, there was still golf...

"So you saw Hobbes," said Hannibal, shaking off the distraction of the idea of not being surrounded by idiots. "An association?"

"A hallucination," corrected Will, pulling out a bottle of aspirin and downing five without batting an eye.

"Have you told Jack?" asked Hannibal.

Will snorted. "Of course not. He's my boss who's supposed to care about my mental wellbeing and make sure I'm not too far in over my head, why on earth would I tell him I'm hallucinating about some guy I killed and a ravenstag?"

"A ravenstag?" asked Hannibal curiously.

"Yeah," Will said. "It's like a deer, y'know," he explained, throwing his arm above his head as fake antlers and clopping around the room making what he thought were fairly accurate stag sounds but in reality sounded more like a dying hyena on speed. "And it had feathers, too," Will continued, this time flapping his arms like a bird.

"Oh," Hannibal said. "How many of those aspirin have you taken, Will?"

"Enough to know that this is all stupid. Therapy doesn't work on me."

"Have you ever tried before?"

"No," Will said, making a face. "It just sounds so... whatever."

Hannibal sighed. "Your hallucination is most likely stress, Will. You swapped someone else's victim for your own."

"I don't consider Hobbes my victim."

"What do you consider him?" asked Hannibal.

"Dead," said Will like a badass. He even gave a little swag nod because he was_ just that cool_.

"How badass," Hannibal observed, echoing Will's thoughts easily since Will had gotten the word tattooed on his forearm right after he killed Hobbes. He'd also considered getting a teardrop tattoo, but he figured that would've been tasteless. Even more tasteless than the T-shirt he made that said 'I KILLED GARRET JACOB HOBBES AND ALL I GOT WAS THESE LOUSY HALLUCINATIONS.'

"Now that you have killed someone do you find it harder to understand the thrill others, like myself but not, of course me, get when they take a life?" Hannibal asked, wondering if killing someone in front of Will would make Will suspect he was up to something. Probably not. At this point Hannibal figured he could probably run for president and win.

Will thought about Hannibal's question for a moment, swallowing. Then he nodded and smiled nervously, because if you smile that means _everything is okay_.

Hannibal, wisely deciding he didn't give a damn, moved from behind his desk over to Will, thinking.

"The mushroom killer. Why did he leave the arms exposed, Will?"

"I dunno. Cuz he was crazy?"

Hannibal stared at him for a full minute until Will said. "Or, uh, maybe he wanted to keep them alive?"

"Like fungus," Hannibal said, nodding at Will like he was a five year-old who had just spelled C-A-T on the chalkboard. "It mirrors the human brain. Connections, neural pathways, all these parts of what makes us human and the human experience."

Will's eyes widened with understanding. "That's it, Hannibal. This serial killer... he's seeking out humanity... that must mean... he's an alien!"

Hannibal paused, then said, very calmly, "excuse me for one moment while you rethink that, Will."

Hannibal left his office, grabbed a knife, murdered three cats and the neighbor who always played his music too loud, and returned.

Will still hadn't figured it out yet.

"Connections!" Hannibal almost yelled. "The killer is seeking _connection!_"

"Oh..." Will said. "That's better than the theory I thought up when you were gone. It involved giant spiders and Stephen King."

Hannibal decided he would kill Will's dogs in front of him before actually taking Will's life.

* * *

Hannibal slammed the door on his next client, a woman with curly red hair.

"Wait!" she squawked. "I'm important to the plot!"

Hannibal sighed and took several calming deep breaths, pictured wide open fields full of dead bodies, then opened the door and smiled.

"Please come in," he said to Freddie Lounds invitingly.

She smiled and followed him into his office.

"So, I'm looking for a therapist," said Freddie. "Because I need one. I have no ulterior motives whatsoever. Or interior motives. Or exterior motives. In fact I have no movies at all. I don't know why I'm here."

Hannibal let out a long sigh.

"Give me your purse."

"What?" asked Freddie. "Why?"

"Because I have a tampon fetish," Hannibal said sarcastically. "Now hand it over."

Freddie complied and Hannibal pulled out her phone.

"You were recording my conversation with Will Graham, Ms. Lounds," Hannibal said, adding you bitch to the end of the sentence in his head.

Freddie didn't have the common decency to look embarrassed, instead she looked disturbingly proud. "Yeah. Pretty clever of me, right? I'm a total BAMF. Now the Hannibal fandom will have to love me!"

"Yeah, no," said Hannibal, taking the phone and slamming it to the ground, proceeding to stomp on it.

"WAIT! That's not in the script!" Freddie said, aghast.

"Screw the script, you're all idiots," Hannibal said. "Now give me your wallet!"

"It's in my purse. Which your holding," Freddie said, feeling resigned to her fate.

Hannibal pocketed the 25 dollars Freddie had in her purse, took the Kleenex and the mints from the bottom and put them in his desk to give to Franklyn, and then gave her the purse back.

"If you ever come back I will impale you on a flag pole," Hannibal said calmly.

Freddie left immediately and never returned to Hannibal's house, except in that one episode that's coming up, but that's not 'till later, so screw that.

* * *

Jack Crawford sat down to a meal with much pomp and circumstance.

"Loin," Hannibal said as he gave Jack his dish for the evening, which had a red sauce that looked like blood. And also was blood. Human blood. From a person. That Hannibal was gonna eat. With Jack Crawford.

"Ah, what kind?" asked Jack, appraising the meat with a discerning eye.

"Human," Hannibal told Jack.

Jack chortled with laughter. "Cannibal, sorry, Hannibal Lecter, you are a riot. Honestly, why didn't you become a comedian? Well, I suppose they don't have any comedians in Belarus."

Hannibal, who had officially given up on everything, just smiled and nodded.

"But it's nice to have a home cooked meal. My wife, who may or may not become important later on in the story, doesn't cook, since she works all day. In fact my mother didn't either... Or, at least not well. I was very skinny as a youngster," Jack said with a nostalgic grin.

"Well that most certainly has changed," muttered Hannibal.

"What?" asked Jack.

"What?" asked Hannibal. "Maybe you should bring your wife with you next time. She sounds like someone who would be fun to torture."

"The only torture my wife knows is the torture of bad cooking!" Jack joked. "And cancer. Also that."

"You don't know that yet," said Hannibal, biting into his delicious human meal.

"It was a good joke," Jack said. "Rule of funny, look it up, Hannibal. Or didn't they have internet in Kazakhstan?"

At this point Hannibal didn't know whether or not to be insulted or just depressed. He settled on taking out his anger on that mean he'd seen a few days ago with his trousers hanging low and his underwear exposed. Perhaps he should start killing teenagers...

"Why do you think that Will Graham came back?" asked Jack.

Hannibal frowned. "Why do _you _think Will Graham came back?"

"You really are a shrink, aren't you?"

"I want to know if you trust Will, Jack. Are you so careful with him because you think he is a broken pony?"

It was Jack's turn to frown now. "What're you implying?"

"Have you ever lost a pony, Jack?"

Jack sighed. "Hannibal, can we wait a few more episodes before we get into this?"

Hannibal sighed. "Alright. A toast?"

Jack smiled and they clinked their glasses.

"I'm the Chesapeake Ripper," whispered Hannibal.

Jack, who had selective hearing, ignored him and instead pictured everyone in the FBI as centaurs and decided he wanted a painting done of him riding centaur Will Graham into battle against evil while brandishing a broadsword. It seemed pretty cool.

And Jack Crawford knew cool. He was in the motherfucking Matrix.

* * *

**Okay, that's all guys! You know what to do. :)**


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